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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459190">As the Saints Come Marching In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dionova/pseuds/dionova'>dionova</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, I play fast and loose with canon, No Beta We Die Like L'Manbergians, War, i mean that's basically what happens, no happy ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:26:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dionova/pseuds/dionova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thunder is the warning.</p><p>Manberg and Pogtopia have been circling each other tensely for months, now. They’re in a standoff. Neither wants to make the first move and be remembered as the one to incite conflict, but both nations know that they cannot allow the other to stand as they are.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eret &amp; Niki | Nihachu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>As the Saints Come Marching In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So would you believe me if I said I started writing this literally hours before the 11/6 stream? Because that's what happened, and now I feel like a goddamn oracle.</p><p>To sum up what happened: I listened to the new 2WEI song, got a very very specific cinematic scene in my head, and then I started writing to get to that point and ended up with way too much exposition. </p><p>That's about it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thunder.</p><p>Rumbling, rolling, ravaging the air.</p><p>Though thunder is always a herald, it nevertheless carries its own power. Haven’t you ever felt it shake your windows, rattle the ground, and reverberate through your very bones? It booms outside and echoes in your ears. When you hear a storm, it’s always the sudden thundering that strikes fear.</p><p>But thunder is only the messenger for a greater power, the sign of the oncoming storm.</p><p>Thunder is the warning.</p><p> </p><p>Manberg and Pogtopia have been circling each other tensely for months, now. They’re in a standoff. Neither wants to make the first move and be remembered as the one to incite conflict, but both nations know that they cannot allow the other to stand as they are.</p><p>Pogtopia, helmed by the once-mighty Wilbur Soot and his passionate right hand Tommy, refuses to allow Manberg to exist under the tyrannical rule of Schlatt. As the exiles, the underdogs, they have the eyes of history watching them with bated breath. Tommy proclaims that they fight for the people of both nations, for the betterment of all under a leader that they can support. One who led their nation to victory before, who sacrificed for them, rather than the tyrant that has taken his place. The bright-eyed boy says that Schlatt’s presidency is no more than a step backward in time, an undoing of L’Manberg’s fight for independence.</p><p>Behind closed doors, in words only for himself to see, Wilbur pens his truth: he is fighting for control. His ego. His reputation. Himself. His rightful place in history. He knows his causes are not noble. The Wilbur Soot that led a rebellion to success would be ashamed of who he’s become. The Wilbur Soot of the present no longer cares. He scribbles feverishly, snapping quills and smudging ink, until not even he knows the words he’s written down.</p><p>The wordsmith, the man who founded a nation on the premise of “the pen is mightier than the sword,” has lost his spark. He crumbles like the final charred bits of paper in a cooling fire. Fragile, lost, maddened, he forges onwards in his quest for glory and a legacy.</p><p>Manberg, the industrial remains of the righteous L’Manberg, knows that Pogtopia is out there somewhere. President Schlatt knows all too well the tempting taste of rebellion. This uprising must be quelled.</p><p>As the ones with the might of the many on their side, Manberg rightfully feels like victory is inevitable for them. It’s as simple as crushing an ant beneath Schlatt’s thick Timberland boots. They are confident, content to wait for Pogtopia to make their ill-advised first move.</p><p>When Schlatt addresses the citizens of Manberg, he spins a valiant tale of defending their democracy from the tyrant who would seize power for himself. He waves his arms with gusto, presents himself with panache, and when he spreads his arms wide at the end of his speeches, his audience always responds with boisterous applause.</p><p>But in private meetings with select members of his cabinet, Schlatt’s words turn acidic. He spits at them: this is for him, his authority, his rightfully earned position. He cannot allow this rebellion to take root, or else he will look weak, be weak, and that cannot happen. Schlatt knows his cause is not altruistic. He doesn’t care for the people beyond the leverage they give him. The version of him that used to peddle on the streets, desperate for any bit of coin, would be proud of the man he’s become. The Schlatt of today knows this. He reminisces, and smiles, and takes another drink from his flask.</p><p>The scammer, the man who built an enterprise on his quick wit and clever mind, is dulling himself. He sways as he walks the halls of the White House, stumbling his way through meetings upon meetings, and the razor-sharpness that is Schlatt blunts. Ranting, intoxicated, vitriolic, he shoulders the weight of a nation for the sake of nothing but his lust for power and control.</p><p>Both nations are spring-loaded, with the smallest shift ready to set them off. They eye each other, rival predators in the midst of a staring contest.</p><p>And as the war of attrition continues, slowly, ever-so-slightly, the power base shifts. Manberg sprouts dissenters from the cracks in its concrete. They funnel, one by one, into Pogtopia’s open arms. It’s in Pogtopia that they are nourished, their ideas echoing to each other around the stone walls. Creeping like the moss in the ravine’s crevasses, Wilbur’s madness wraps its tendrils into the hearts of the rebels.</p><p>Soon, the narrow gorge of Pogtopia is filled with exiles, all stalking its length with gleaming eyes. They rave to each other about the unfairness of Schlatt’s rule, their numerous plans to end his reign, and the golden age that will arise with their return. They dream of a light, brightened future as they huddle in dark corners, bugs skittering across the floor around them.</p><p>Manberg, too, is a gloomy, dismal place. Much of the area is grey with stone and concrete, expanding ever-onwards in neat rectangular segments. Houses stand at attention down regimented streets as Schlatt marches by. The people to match, though, are missing, tucked behind shuttered windows or flown from the country entirely. Schlatt is past the point of caring, though. He fancies himself Atlas carrying his perfect, industrialized nation; the burden weighs too heavy for him to notice a few missing citizens. What would they know of his work, anyway?</p><p>Either way, the two nations, eternally at odds, become twins of one another. Filled with phantoms of people, gradually descending into disrepair. With leaders focused on their own selfish gain, desperate for a place in the history books, the citizens are left to fend for themselves.</p><p>It is nostalgia for a distant past of pride and glory that pulls people to Pogtopia.</p><p>It is hope for a distant future of prosperity and joy that keeps them in Manberg.</p><p>And it is a tiny, miniscule minority that is driven from both out of care for the families they have now.</p><p> </p><p>Niki is no surprise. She can see the turn that her families have taken for the worse. She’s watched them fall. And it breaks her heart.</p><p>Wilbur, who she joined a nation for, who was the first one she knew here, is no longer the man that she cared for so much. Her friend doesn’t sing nonsense made-up songs, humming aimlessly as he works. He struggles to delicately pluck the strings of his guitar in the same complex manner he used to. His fingers shake too much with cold and stress nowadays. The only songs she hears from him now are battle hymns, ones that fire up the blood of any who hear them and set them itching for a fight. She misses those cheerful times, hates how much he’s called on to play an anthem that he no longer believes in. The one that thrums through his chest now is a heavy drumbeat, a blaring trumpet, the war cry of a horn.</p><p>Tommy is ragged, run down by increasing workloads and organizing space for new members and fighting a thousand and one battles. Niki can’t remember the last time she saw him go out and play a prank on someone. He’s not a child anymore, despite how much everyone still makes fun of him for it. His eyes have seen too much, his stomach too little. He’s a man now, and Niki mourns for who he used to be. He doesn’t fidget like he used to, doesn’t write imaginary letters in the air. He stands tall and so very still. Niki remembers a time of boundless hyperactive energy. He’s a battery, and he’s powering so many different operations that he’s run dry.</p><p>It’s been too long since she last saw Tubbo, trapped in Manberg as he is. Schlatt monitors him closely. There are few moments that he can escape the president’s knowing gaze, and never for long enough to make it to Pogtopia’s hideaway. He wears a suit constantly, now. He looks good, she supposes, for being in such a tense situation. He has access to so many luxuries the Pogtopians don’t, a ready supply of food, and a wardrobe full of starched suits. But the last time Niki saw him, his eyes were blank, the beginnings of frown lines etching themselves into his youthful face. He doesn’t laugh as much anymore. He doesn’t say much at all. Too many times has he been interrupted, spoken over, ignored; he’s stopped trying to speak altogether. When Niki sees him now, a heavy silence hangs over them, where there used to be easy and rambling conversation. He’s lost his touch at filling the empty air. It’s like a new person; everything that made Tubbo himself has been scraped out and replaced with the seeds for a new Schlatt.</p><p>Niki sees them all, and she cries out to the universe. But silently. Always silently. There is no space for her to scream now.</p><p> </p><p>Who is surprising is the Traitor King, Eret. With all the rumors that fly around him – and the many truths – nobody would expect him to care for the people of Manberg and Pogtopia. He has his own kingdom to run now, one that he abandoned them for.</p><p>They call him greedy, selfish, cruel.</p><p>He is none of these things.</p><p>In every story of betrayal, the audience always skims over the most important question. Why did they do it? They’ll forget the question or ignore the answer.</p><p>And Eret has never been asked.</p><p>If someone were to step up and inquire, the answer they receive might go something like this:</p><p>I did it for them.</p><p>We stood no chance as we were.</p><p>I hoped that my actions could change their minds.</p><p>Or grant them mercy.</p><p>I did it for the people.</p><p>So that even if L’Manberg failed, there would never be another tyrant like the one we revolted against.</p><p>And I regret the loss of those bonds.</p><p>I wish I hadn’t felt the need to do it.</p><p>But I would do it again if I had to.</p><p>Because Eret would never have donned his crown if he hadn’t understood the plight of the people. He never would have taken his throne if he hadn’t seen the need for change. He never would have started ruling if he hadn’t wanted a change in regime.</p><p>In the privacy of his own mind, he admits to himself that he misses them. He misses L’Manberg and the growth of a nation he’s no longer welcome in. He misses the ragtag band of revolutionaries, as close as brothers, that he’s been disowned from.</p><p>Sometimes that hurts. Sometimes their distant betrayed glares strike Eret hard through his heart. Sometimes he watches them laughing with each other and feels unbearably lonely. Sometimes the missing walls remind him of the ache of his back as he built them brick by brick, the hands of his comrades leading him to bed after he spent too long working without a break.</p><p>He cares for them still. Even if they no longer care about him, and he can’t blame them for that, he still holds them close in his heart. He watches distantly, always distantly, and twists himself to knots internally, knowing he cannot help them.</p><p>He cares for his country, too. L’Manberg was his dream just as much as theirs, and he spilled blood for it just like the rest of them, and seeing its sorry state burns. But he can’t intervene, not with his position. Not without violating treaties and agreements and his entire sacrifice coming undone. He can only stare down from his ivory tower, an eternal bystander.</p><p>He looks upon Manberg now, the mighty and untouchable king, and despairs. He despairs oh so silently.</p><p> </p><p>It takes time for the two of them to meet again. They’ve been driven apart by so many responsibilities: running a kingdom, steadying one behind the scenes. Niki and Eret both are essential in their homes.</p><p>When they do run into each other, it happens literally. With a clatter of colliding armor, they collapse to the ground in the middle of the woods. Niki is immediately on guard; all her accumulated stress and paranoia give her the adrenalin to scramble to her feet and point a sword in Eret’s direction. The man is noticeably less quick to react. He hasn’t been living with the constant threat of war and death hanging over his head. He pushes himself up on his arms, startled.</p><p>“Woah, Niki, hey! It’s me! Calm down!”</p><p>She quickly gathers herself, holding a hand to her chest and breathing heavily. Her sword drops to the grass beneath them. “Eret!”</p><p>He hasn’t even fully sat up from the ground when Niki tackles him into a hug, crushing him back to the ground. Eret lets out a solid “oomph,” though she really doesn’t weigh as much as she should. That’s the first thing that concerns him, but he’s more immediately focused on the small shudders coursing through the girl in his arms. “Hey, what’s this, Niki?” He slowly lifts them both to a sitting position, cupping Niki’s face in his hands. She’s silent, and her face is dry, but her eyes are screwed shut and she’s fisting her hands in Eret’s shirt. “Niki?”</p><p>“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers. She finally opens her eyes, wide and a bit watery. Just as gently as he holds her face, Niki pulls Eret’s sunglasses from his head. He doesn’t stop her.</p><p>Feeling emotional himself, the king grasps Niki in another, tighter hug. At least three weeks have passed since he last even spotted Niki in the distance, much less talked to her. It feels good to talk to one of the few people who doesn’t care about his past misdeeds. He squeezes her again, before reluctantly letting go and pushing himself to his feet.</p><p>As Eret offers Niki a hand up, he assesses her.</p><p>Her L’Manberg uniform appears to have finally given out; as a point of pride, Niki had refused to take it off in Manberg, but now it is conspicuously absent. She instead wears a practical pair of overalls, dingy and patched. There are small tears across the denim. Her hair is greasy and unwashed, hanging unbound around her shoulders. There is dirt smudged across most open spaces of her skin, a thin layer of grime that hasn’t been cleaned.</p><p>At the surface, she appears to be the same Niki as always, if one with less access to running water and soap.</p><p>But dark purple bags sag beneath her eyes. But Eret can see her cheekbones more clearly now. But she’s so much smaller. But her nails are bitten down to the quick. But her bottom lip is chapped and scabbed. But she curls in on herself more than he’s used to.</p><p>But she trembles, ever so slightly.</p><p>Niki is making a similar assessment of her friend.</p><p>He is dressed the same. His cloak is richly dyed and lined with fur, covering his otherwise common attire. The sunglasses she’s holding had covered his eyes just like every other time she’s seen him. He stands tall, back straight, head high. He’s letting his hair grow out, she notes. It’s shaggier than the last time they met up. When he smiles at her, his teeth are as pearly white as always.</p><p>To the untrained eye, he is as impeccably put together as always, as any king should be.</p><p>But there’s a thread unraveling from his cloak, worried away. But frown lines remain imprinted on his forehead. But he fidgets with his hands. But his smile is more strained. But his shoulders hunch inwards, breaking that perfect posture.</p><p>But he trembles, ever so slightly.</p><p>When she gets to her feet, she doesn’t let go of his hand. He keeps his fingers clasped tightly in hers. They don’t talk about it.</p><p>It takes hours for the two friends to let go of each other, caught up in reminiscing together and pointedly not talking about the present. They laugh together about pranks they’ve seen pulled, the smiles on everybody’s faces, the simple joys of a time long since passed by.</p><p>When they finally do part, reluctantly, painfully, Eret breaks the taboo subject. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Niki smiles sadly and lets their hands drift apart, her fingers trailing behind her. She doesn’t answer.</p><p>Eret still understands.</p><p> </p><p>They start meeting regularly, sneaking away whenever they get the chance to a small meadow in the woods. It becomes a tradition to see who can braid the longest chain of flowers from the wild daisies and buttercups. Niki holds the current record.</p><p>On one of these trips, Eret shows up late, scrubbing a hand down his face and dragging his feet. Normally he’s impeccably on time.</p><p>Niki is already concerned. In recent days, she’s been so busy around Pogtopia that she has no idea what’s going on outside her sphere of influence. She knows that the number of incoming refugees from Manberg has decreased recently – she’s glad for it, that’s less work for her – and that winter is well on its way, which isn’t going to help their already-meager rations. Eret, though, is well-versed in the relations between each country. It’s his job, after all.</p><p>So when he gracelessly sits down in their usual spot and looks at her with an expression of pained resignation, Niki knows that something big has happened.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I don’t know how to say this, but…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“Manberg and Pogtopia are going to war, Niki. Officially.”</p><p> </p><p>The tenuous, shaky peace ends not with a bang, but a whisper. One quiet, backroom betrayal. A hidden clause at the back of a bill.</p><p>A single paragraph tears the hope for a peaceful resolution to shreds.</p><p>Suddenly, Manberg and Pogtopia are constantly preparing. Pogtopia refuses to allow any new members to join their ranks, too suspicious of possible spies. Manberg closes their borders entirely; nobody gets in, nobody gets out.</p><p>Niki runs circles in Pogtopia.</p><p>She tries to get Wilbur to see reason, to <em>just stop it, Wil, okay?</em> He’s heading strategy meetings, his plans for Manberg’s destruction finally seeing the light of day.</p><p>He’s always deaf to her pleas. He shoos her away, has her ushered out of the war room as his hands return to his face – the image of the contemplative general. She hates those plans of his.</p><p>She tries to convince Tommy to stop pushing himself so hard, to <em>get some rest, Tommy, please</em>. He’s stretching himself thin running patrols, his time spent exploring the lands finally getting put to use.</p><p>He’s always quick to reassure her. He tells her that’s he’s doing fine, has her escorted back to work as he remounts his horse – the picture of the perfect soldier. She hates that standard he lives up to.</p><p>She tries to persuade Technoblade to put down his sword, to <em>do anything else, Techno, come on</em>. He’s training every citizen of Pogtopia to fight, his expertise and reputation finally being tapped.</p><p>He’s always too busy to see her. He ignores her, has her blocked by a sea of armed and angry refugees as he demonstrates the proper way to decapitate someone – the legend of the unmatched warrior. She hates his idolization of war.</p><p>Eret watches helplessly outside Manberg.</p><p>He holds no power within their borders, and though he’s one of the few exceptions allowed to pass into the country, Schlatt is so paranoid that the king knows his words would be unheeded anyways.</p><p>So Eret watches from his tower as Manberg’s factories spew ever more smoke into the grey skies, as curfews are established and guards patrol the streets.</p><p>He sits on his throne and he seethes. Manberg turns from an industrial machine into one of war. A draft is taken, and Eret wishes he could do more when parents cry out as their too-young children are turned into soldiers.</p><p>The Traitor King sees Schlatt personally hand Tubbo a gleaming sword and cries out internally when the boy – <em>he’s only a boy, too young for this</em> – slashes it flawlessly through the training dummy. Schlatt will be sitting back safely when the clash begins, of this Eret is certain. With Tubbo’s presence, Eret knows that Schlatt is ensuring his influence and all-seeing eye is felt everywhere within his nation. It’s a political stunt, and one that may cost Tubbo his life.</p><p>He cannot intervene.</p><p>His own kingdom, small though it is, has preparations of their own to make. Eret oversees efforts to stock up on food and medical supplies. Winter is approaching quickly, and he has his own people to look out for. And he knows that when Pogtopia and Manberg tear each other to shreds, both sides will need help.</p><p>Eret became a king because he cared. He’s not about to stop caring, even for people outside his borders.</p><p> </p><p>“Eret, the – the battle. It’s coming. It’s finalized.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“They sent envoys – Tommy and Tubbo.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And the war’s finally here.”</p><p> </p><p>“In a week’s time, at dawn.”</p><p> </p><p>Throughout the final week, Eret and Niki run themselves ragged doing whatever they can to stop the impending battle. The dread hangs over their heads like Damocles’ sword, forming deep pits in their stomachs and causing their fingers to tremble. The anxiety is torturous.</p><p>Eret arranges hasty meetings with Schlatt, trying to do anything to sway the president from his course. The man is sober now, his eyes keen and focused, his mind sharp and intent. He is stubborn. He refuses to let Pogtopia off.</p><p>“They tried to unseat me, to undo the democratic process that <em>they </em>agreed to. What would Manberg think of me if I let them go?”</p><p>Niki pulls at Wilbur whenever she can, pleading as best she can for the general to stop this battle. The man is saner now, his eyes keen and focused, his mind sharp and intent. He is stubborn. He refuses to let Manberg go.</p><p>“They threw me out, after everything I did for that country. What would Pogtopia think of me if I gave up now?”</p><p>Neither changes their mind. Neither is moved from their path. They push onwards, two rival trains speeding at each other, doomed to crash in a fiery blaze.</p><p>So Niki and Eret leave. They don’t want to get caught in the crossfire. Nobody will listen to them. They know when they’re not wanted. It hurts, but they know.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s today, Eret.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p> </p><p>Dawn rises.</p><p>Autumn is just tipping over into winter.</p><p>Frost coats the thin grass.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>The animals have wandered off for winter.</p><p>The plants lay dormant.</p><p>The only things truly alive now are Eret and Niki, huddled together in the chilly morning air.</p><p>There are no more flower chains for them. They haven’t brought any food; they’re far too anxious to eat.</p><p>Together, they sit and watch the sun rise over their meadow, turning the sky a blazing orange and pulling a thick layer of fog from the ground. It obscures their vision, limits them to their own little bubble of reality inside a cloud. The air is sharp in their noses, bitingly cold and crisp with pine.</p><p>There is no sound but their own breaths and the crackling of distant leaves.</p><p>“I don’t want it to end like this.”</p><p>Eret looks down at Niki. They’re standing facing the sunrise. Her cheeks are reddened. “Neither do I,” he says. “But we can’t stop it.”</p><p>There’s a clearing not too far from their meadow, just barely visible through the fog. The sun’s rays slowly illuminate it more and more.</p><p>It starts off small. Quiet. One could almost mistake it for a distant hum.</p><p>But it stays steady, it holds for ages. And it only ever grows louder. Soon that dim murmur swells into a roar.</p><p>It is the thunder of hundreds of feet marching up the hills bordering the clearing. With the rising sun lighting them, Pogtopia and Manberg crest their respective knolls.</p><p>Niki and Eret can barely make out familiar forms.</p><p>On Manberg’s side, Tubbo sits atop a horse. Niki can pick out the familiar epaulettes of his old L’Manberg uniform, brought out specifically for this occasion. The army of Manberg fans out behind him, most also dressed similarly. It’s like Schlatt is trying to hit a nerve with the Pogtopians, saying <em>here, look at us, those who fought in the war, those who won it. </em></p><p>Ponk, Punz, Purpled, and Sapnap flank Tubbo, swords gleaming on their hips. George waits further back, a bow slung over his body and quiver ready at his hip.</p><p>And Dream is there too, not mounted on any horse. His mask is as unnerving and unreadable as ever. His axe waits readily in his hand, a shield on his other arm. He is ready for war.</p><p>On Pogtopia’s side, Wilbur stands directly in front of Tommy, who is riding his stolen steed. Both are dressed in their rebellion attire, dirty and worn. Wilbur’s trench coat fans out behind him in the morning breeze. The mob from Pogtopia spreads out behind their leaders, all of them worse for wear. It’s a point of their own, saying <em>here, look at us, those who would fight for you, those who have sacrificed.</em></p><p>Bad, Quackity, Fundy, and Sam stand at the front of the crowd. They are covered in grime, thin and hungry, but their weapons are readied and their expressions are determined.</p><p>And Technoblade is there too, not mounted on any horse. His mask is as unnerving and unreadable as ever. His axe waits readily in his hand, a shield on his other arm. He is ready for war.</p><p>The battle is inevitable. It’s here.</p><p>The thunder of restless feet is loud in Niki and Eret’s ears, even though everything feels silent.</p><p>The sky has turned a deep amber. Fog drifts forebodingly over the soon-to-be battlefield.</p><p>Everything stands on this knife-point moment.</p><p>Nobody moves.</p><p> </p><p>A beat.</p><p>Two beats.</p><p>A drumbeat.</p><p>Anticipation roils.</p><p>The clock ticks down.</p><p>One more moment of silence.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur raises a horn to his lips and blows one deep, long note.</p><p>Pogtopia’s army rallies to its call, roaring their approval, before charging down the hill, their swords held high.</p><p>Manberg quickly responds by racing down just as rapidly, weapons ready and blood rushing.</p><p>The thunder returns.</p><p>Dream and Technoblade meet first, axes clashing loudly in the first metallic lightning-strike.</p><p>Chaos ensues after that.</p><p>Metal-on-metal, shouts of anger and cries of pain, the wet sucking noise of blades pulled from bodies, trampling feet, rearing horses. It’s all Niki and Eret can hear.</p><p>The scene plays out before them like a movie, but it’s an all-too-horrific reality.</p><p>Their eyes dart back and forth between individual fights: Bad slashes at Sapnap, Fundy ducks away from Purpled, Wilbur blocks an arrow from George, Punz draws blood from Quackity, Sam disarms Ponk.</p><p>Tommy and Tubbo circle each other reluctantly, swords unsheathed, but never move to strike.</p><p>Dream and Technoblade form the center of the hurricane of violence, a never-ending back-and-forth of swirling metal and solid wood. Neither has the upper hand.</p><p>It’s a symphony, of a sort. Carefully conducted and delicately structured, the chaos and discordant notes at times fade into a fragile kind of order. There are moments hidden in the bloody battle: a swift return of a weapon to a disarmed comrade, friends twirling back-to-back, scuffles devolved into brutal and quick hand-to-hand.</p><p>If one thread were to be unraveled, perhaps the whole tapestry of this war would fall to pieces.</p><p>But Niki and Eret are far too late to find that lonely string.</p><p>They can only sit back, hold each other, and watch as their friends slaughter each other.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy is pulled from his horse.</p><p>He goes down with a shout of indignation, unable to see who he’s fighting.</p><p>The two helpless observers don’t see him after that.</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo leaps from his mount, desperate to find his friend, despite their opposing sides.</p><p>They can’t see him through the throng of bodies.</p><p>Niki and Eret glance at each other with tears in their eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Ponk drops bonelessly to the ground.</p><p>Sam’s sword runs him through.</p><p>He pulls it out, wipes it off on the grass, and jumps back into the fray.</p><p> </p><p>Bad and Sapnap are locked in a battle of wills and strength.</p><p>Their swords push against each other, arms trembling.</p><p>Bad gains the upper hand for a split second, and then Sapnap pulls out his flint.</p><p> </p><p>Quackity stumbles away from Punz, gripping his useless arm.</p><p>He turns his back for a split second.</p><p>Something knocks him over the head, and he collapses.</p><p> </p><p>Fundy leads Purpled away from the crowd, directing their duel.</p><p>Further and further they stray from the field of battle.</p><p>When the ground suddenly drops from beneath him, Purpled doesn’t see it coming.</p><p> </p><p>Dream and Technoblade still dance their way around each other.</p><p>Neither is tiring, neither is giving ground.</p><p>They fight on, unbothered by the rest of the world.</p><p> </p><p>All around them, Niki and Eret can only see war. It’s worse than they had feared.</p><p>The sun blazes overhead, turning the sky scarlet in the misty morning.</p><p>A warning.</p><p> </p><p>They watch, frozen, for hours as the fighting slows and stops. There are few soldiers remaining on either side. Those still alive scatter from the field of battle and over the hills again.</p><p>The two warriors at the center finally halt, panting. They support themselves on the handles of their weaponry as they shake hands and call it a draw. Stepping over their fallen comrades, they disperse.</p><p>Silence reigns once more. No more feet thunder across the earth. No more swords clash and clang. No more shouts ring out.</p><p> </p><p>The frost is gone from the clearing as Niki and Eret hurry over. Too many hot bodies have trampled over it. The fog still sits heavily, the sky remains reddish-orange as the sun burns higher, the silence stays.</p><p>In the mess of war, Pogtopian and Manbergian alike lay strewn across the clearing, piled atop each other with no regard for their allegiance. Nationality doesn’t matter in death. In the end, they died perfectly alike: for a leader fighting for themselves, for an ideal long gone, for a nation identical to their enemy.</p><p>Wilbur has disappeared to who-knows-where, nursing his wounds and recalculating.</p><p>Schlatt never entered the field of battle in the first place.</p><p>Their right hands lay together, united in friendship like Pogtopia and Manberg could never be.</p><p> </p><p>Niki and Eret survey the silent battleground and weep.</p><p>The storm has passed.</p><p>But oh, the destruction it has left in its wake.</p><p>Silent, red, cold.</p><p>They pick themselves from their grief and drift off to relay the message.</p><p>The war, the terrible terrible war, is over.</p><p>And nobody has won.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again, every work of mine in this fandom is tagged with major character death. What is it about the block people that makes me think "let's make this angsty"<br/>Someone please answer because I've got to know. Please, I don't know what's going on. Why can't I write fluff? Why is it always sad? Why???</p></blockquote></div></div>
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